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Karma could have a huge impact on many aspects of my life, should it ever wish to rear its ugly head…and if it even existed. To believe in karma at all, I’d first have to believe in some great, overseeing, governing body, other than that of science and nature, that looks to “even the score” or “make things right” in our universe, like it would even give 2-shits to begin with. “Karma”, by its definition, is just a way for people who’ve been wronged to feel they’ll somehow be righted in the future, by way of some cosmic force, even if they’re never aware of it.

In addition to charms and magic beings, we like to create little words and phrases to explain away the woes of life. I’ll give you a few more: “bad things happen to good people”, “only the good die young” and “can’t win for losing”. If karma were true, these clichés wouldn’t be so goddamned rampant themselves.

Four words – GROW THE FUCK UP. You want “karma”, you create that shit. You want revenge, you go fucking get it. Life, luck or some divine power is not going to make things right in your little world. And, as an example that is relevant to the season, I’ll give you my own Christmas decorations.

You see, I went through a spell as a kid, and leading well into adulthood (STILL a lot would argue) of being a destructive, little asshole. Now – I destroy relationships…then – I destroyed property. That’s right; I was that little shit who fucked up your belongings for no other reason than the selfish rush it gave me and my pals. I’d love to take the therapeutic approach and blame my behavior on the bullying I experienced years beforehand, but that would just be bullshit. I was a dick during those years, I make no apologies (to do so would be disingenuous) and I loved every minute of it.

And, in my much-loved world of mayhem, Christmas time was the goddamned Super Bowl of vandalism and property destruction. Many friends I know, who some of you do too, took part in these exercises of dickhead-edness and many a story can be told with many an epic evening remembered.

Christmas brought a whole new world of opportunity to our mundane weekly escapades of egging, mailbox baseball, toilet papering and dowsing the elderly with hoses through opened, screened windows (just us?) that the rest of the year had encompassed and was quickly beginning to grow tired. People were begging us to fuck with them and now even providing the tools with which to do so.

In the pre-driving years, it began on foot and stayed as simple as plucking bulbs from a strand of decorative lights, causing the entire strand to go out. This would escalate into removing the large bulbs to the tune of as many as your coat and pants would hold, which would later be used simply for the large “pop” they made when thrown against the street or brick wall at just the right angle. I don’t know who the first little fucker to figure this out was, but he needs to be bronzed right next to that 14-year old inventor of the “okay sign below the waist” game.

As we grew older, snow dicks in front yards and Santa’s bound in compromising positions to snowmen or reindeer statues with light strands became our new norm. Not as destructive, unless we count the psyche of youngsters, but entertaining nonetheless.

A few years passed and the incredible addition of the “automobile”, as well as the license to operate one, would again expand our horizons. The lights we were once happy just removing were now shut in the car door or tied to the bumper and driven down the road with. Decorative reindeer were now taken from yards completely to be relocated, fucking of course, to the homes of other friends, who also happened to still live with their folks, making this much more satisfactory.

I also have it on good authority that, on a few occasions, the boys in blue showed up to question said friends but “man-code” was properly adhered to and nobody was the wiser. Best yet, many partners in past discretions are now entrusted as those you’d actually call in the event of being a victim today, in multiple capacities and multiple municipalities throughout this great city and state (you KNOW who you are!).

One particular neighborhood was so frequently violated by our antics that razor blades were one year adhered to the back of yard ornaments in the effort to discourage our shenanigans or at least cause harm to the perpetrator. I tip my cap to these homeowners.

I eventually (though WAY longer than it should’ve taken) outgrew such juvenile behavior but would be lying to say the urge to build an ample pair of snow tits in a buddy’s driveway or set up a reindeer orgy for his children to walk out to hasn’t crossed my mind, just knowing he’d know who was behind it.

I’ve decorated my own home for 2-years now, and done so without incident. If this “karma” character existed, I’d perpetually be egged every time I walked out the front door, have shit on my truck windshield (yeah, I know) and my Christmas decorations would last a grand total of about 2-½ hours. And, if any of this does now happen, I’ll know exactly where to go, boys.

“Karma is a bitch”. Yes it is, a great big, pussy-ass, non-existent bitch. Come and get me…KMFP-out!


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